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But there was this difference between Reddy Fox and Farmer Brown's boy: Reddy knew all about what had happened, and Farmer Brown's boy couldn't even guess. He went all around that henhouse, trying to find a way by which Reddy Fox had managed to get in. Of course, he discovered that the little sliding door where the biddies go in and out of the henhouse was open.
The scratch was inflicted, he told me, when he held one of the thoroughbred Plymouth Rock biddies to be greased by Sam for lice under her wings. "Yes, but what about the play, Peter dear?" I asked, after we had weeded and dug and watered and pulled up for an hour or two and had then seated ourselves at the end of one of the long rows to rest.
So he didn't intend to give them a chance to slip into that henyard while the biddies were out, or to give the biddies a chance to stray outside where they might be still more easily caught. But at night he sometimes left that gate open, as Granny Fox had found out. You see, he thought it didn't matter because the hens were locked in their warm house and so were safe, anyway.
The trouble is that troubles are, More frequently than not, Brought on by naught but carelessness; By some one who forgot. Old Granny Fox. Granny Fox had hoped that those two hens she and Reddy had stolen from Farmer Brown's henhouse would not be missed, but they were. They were missed the very first thing the next morning when Farmer Brown's boy went to feed the biddies.
So as they looked at the matter, there was nothing wrong in being in that henhouse in the middle of the night. They were there simply because they needed food very, very much, and food was there. They stared up at the roosts where the biddies were huddled together, fast asleep.
She hunted up the ax, and one by one hacked off poor biddies' heads; but when it came to the picking process, they found it was slow work for small, inexperienced fingers, and gave up in despair when the third nude body lay in the grass at their feet. "It is almost night, Peace, and we've picked three. What shall we do? 'Twill take us hours to finish that whole bunch."
We were also shown incubators, which, in spring, hatch little chickens by hundreds. "Think of fifteen hundred eggs at a sitting, Winnie!" I cried; "that's quite a contrast to the number that you put under one of your biddies at home." "I don't care," replied the child; "we've raised over a hundred chickens since we began." "Yes, indeed," I said.
"It's awful beyond words! I've done nothing but wish for a brigade of Biddies, with good stout mops, and a government permit to clean up. I'd give it a bath!" "Yes, it's pretty bad. I'm glad you don't like it." "Glad? Is every one ag'in' poor me?" "Because well, the American Legation is a very lonely place. Now, the presence of an American lady " "Are you offering a proposal of marriage, Mr.
When I see some of the girls who used to be so pretty and gay, and they went and married poor men now they are so worn and tired and bedraggled and perambulatorious, and they worry about Biddies and furnaces and cabbages, and their hair is just scratched together, with the dubbest hats I'd rather be an idle rich."
Many times from a safe hiding-place he had hungrily watched Farmer Brown's boy shut the biddies up. It was always just before the Black Shadows began to creep out from their hiding-places. "I thought so," said Granny. The truth is, she KNEW so. There was nothing about that henhouse and what went on there that Granny didn't know quite as well as Reddy.
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